


The Consolation Key: The Healer’s Art

by thetammyjo



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Palace of the Keys, Prostitution, Slavery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetammyjo/pseuds/thetammyjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fic written years back when I was part of the Palace of the Keys.  This looks at the therapeutic aspect of the Palace for some of the Key Holders and how not all the slaves in the Palace are there against their will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consolation Key: The Healer’s Art

Prologue: Number Twelve

“You have been amazing,” the key holder said as she pulled on her shoes and smiled up at the ebony body standing naked before her. The Consolation Key nodded his head calmly, acknowledging the compliment as he picked up his white gauze robe and pulled it around him.

The Mistress stood up and pulled Ashon into a hug, her pale skin and blonde hair the greatest contrast yet in an owner since he’d arrived at the Palace three years ago. At first that had worried him. Perhaps this lady was ill, not of the soul or the heart but the body and while he was good with simple plants and small animals, he was no doctor. His page and the Palace doctors discussed this worry with him and assured him that among her people such paleness is normal and even considered beautiful. The Palace, the culture which created it and which primarily keeps it in business, was all quite foreign to Ashon so he accepted this information as true, if strange.

Ashon returned the hug with a deep sigh, revitalizing his own soul with the knowledge that what he did here trapped in this building was good, was valuable, was indeed as his spirit guides would wish. He released her as soon as her own grasp lessened.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, as did all of the previous key holders usually did several times during their stay. At this point, many promised to return to him in the future and he had his consoling smile ready for that impossible pronouncement. Part of his agreement with the Palace was that he was here to heal; not to become some plaything for anyone with enough of that money material these people seemed to so fondly desire. Once restored to either their former sexual confidence or newly discovered sensual powers, no one could claim this key again.

“Ashon,” the mistress began and his lips started their journey upward to placate but were stopped by her next words. “You should leave here and do this professionally.” Ashon’s smile disappeared and he turned his head slightly, unsure of what she was offering. “You are gifted, so understanding, and so gentle yet persuasive; you’d be a wonderful therapist.”

“What is therapist?” Ashon asked simply.

The mistress smiled a bit and nodded as though realizing again that he was utterly unaware of the world she came from and must return to today. “A therapist is someone who helps people heal themselves emotionally or spiritually, usually for money, they are professional and, while quite friendly, do not allow themselves to form strong personal attachments with clients.”

Ashon looked around his room for a moment, then at himself, then finally touched the key she had still hanging around her neck. “I am therapist,” he stated.

She looked at him and blinked a few times then smiled. “I guess you are. But outside of here, you could chose your clients, which people you’d help, which you wouldn’t, you’d be free.”

“Every living being needing help, needs help,” Ashon responded.

The mistress frowned a bit and reached into her purse. She pressed a small card into his hand with that thing they called writing on it though he could not read it. “My name is Mary Beth Dasker. If you ever do leave the Palace and want to become a therapist out there, give me a call. It would be the least I could do after all that you’ve done.”

With those words she turned, used the key and left the room. The door shut and locked behind her, closing him off from the rest of the world again until another came who needed healing. Ashon went to his tree of record and marked another line upon it. This made twelve that he had helped. How many more would the spirits require of him before allowing him back to his home jungle? The card he placed beneath a hollowed out rock at this tree’s base. All of this was not real, was not his jungle, and so the card would keep. What for, he did not know, but the spirits had wanted her to give it to him and thus he must keep it until their will was revealed.

 

Chapter One: Preparation

Ashon sat on the ground listening to the Page describe his next owner. The boy had come with a file of papers again but, of course, the Key couldn’t read especially not the barbaric language commonly used in the Palace. But Ashon had a good memory and the Palace had as many pictures as they could find.

His newest master would be a young many named Jonathan Welton who looked like he could have come from a tribe far to the north of Ashon’s home. He had been in a place called “jail” for attempting to steal money from his employer. Jail was a very bad place according to the Page and while he was there the new master had been treated very badly. His family was sending him here to recover with the aid of a men’s crisis center.

When questioned further the Page revealed that this bad treatment was sexual in nature and while this still confused Ashon he was growing used to all of the Key owners needing healing from such pasts. If asked Ashon would have said that among his people it was quite uncommon for such violence to occur and if it did, the family of the one attacked would be granted swift and personal justice. Few men or women wanted to risk the revenge of an entire clan for a few moments of power and pain.

For Ashon as a shaman in training, the mere thought of such violence was repulsive. Sex was a gift from nature, a tool for both creation and maintenance; it was necessary for the tribe, for the clan, and for the individual. No one who loved himself or his community would think to disgrace himself with such behavior for it only showed how undesirable the attacker was.

The Page listened to the Consolation Key again speak at length on the matter. This was one of those rare times when the Key spoke and even though his words were formed oddly and mixed with words unknown, the emotion in his voice was obvious. The Palace had done an excellent job choosing Ashon for this position.

This Jonathan Welton would arrive in three days. The Page ended the consultation and offered Ashon the folder. Of course, the Key did not take it, he never did, and he seemed quite capable of remembering all that was important. This was one Key the Palace never had complaints about even if there were also never long-term or permanent masters. Rumors ran that this was an arrangement made between Ashon and the Dauphin but the Page knew that must be false. All Keys were merely property used to promote the wealth of the Palace owner and stockholders.

Ashon waited until the Page left before leaving his suite to enter the walled garden. There he mediated on the coming wounded man. There would be much mediation and several purification rituals to perform in these two days. No one would disturb him except to drop off his very meager meals during this time, food and drink to help him center and energize him for the work ahead. Something told him that this one, this number thirteen would be more difficult than the twelve before.

 

Chapter Two: Arrival

Jonathan Welton got out of the limo and glanced around him. This was the famous Palace of the Keys, huh? Well, it certainly wasn’t the Marion County Jail that was certain. Jonathan couldn’t believe his family was sending him here; where did they get the money? His sister told him that the entire Church had chipped in for his therapy. They understood why he did what he did, God understood too, and it wasn’t right for any of God’s creatures to be treated as he’d been.

“Sir,” a boy got his attention. “I will take your bags for you, Sir. If you’ll follow me, I will take you inside to see the receptionist.”

Jonathan nodded and followed. Maybe if he just played along he’d get to feel better. There were so many things he couldn’t tell his family and Church, things they could not forgive, he was certain. Here, maybe here, it would be different.

The boy led him up to an ornate desk inside a building that clearly was well named “The Palace”. He handed the woman his ID and the key he’d been given. After a few questions to confirm his identity, the woman handed the items back with a smile. “Mister Welton. Welcome to the Palace of the Keys. Onar will show you to your suite and your key will explain everything to you.”

“My key?”

The receptionist smiled. “Yes, the key is not only for the suite but for the servant that comes with it,” she explained as simply as she could.

“Oh, I see,” Jonathan muttered softly. Servants, huh? Was this the “big house” then? The idea amused him. The bellboy showed him to an elevator and then down a series of hallways until they stood in front of a simple wooden door with “Consolation Key” engraved on in it.

The bellboy smiled at him and nodded toward the lock. After fumbling for a moment, Jonathan opened it and swung the door inward. The bellboy brushed passed him and deposited his bags along the wall then left without waiting for a tip. Jonathan stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

The room was not what he expected. Perhaps this was one of those fantasy suite deals, one would have an igloo, another a princess’ shoe, another decorated with the Chicago Bears theme? No, this was was sparse. The floor was red tile and there was a primitive round fireplace at the center with copper pots hanging above them. One pot was hanging directly over the flames. In one are there was a bed that looked big enough for three and far too big for the small room. There was a door near the bed and another opposite the entry. If there was a theme, what was it, Native American on a budget?

“You are Jonathan Welton,” a masculine voice stated causing the newcomer to turn. It was a man, very dark skinned, his hair cut close to his head, wearing a white robe like ones they might wear in the desserts of Arabia or North Africa. The darker man made Jonathan look almost pale by comparison and that fact made him open his mouth in surprise. If the Palace was for gay men, he was surprised that there was another black man here; Jonathan’s lovers had all be white except for one Latino. Being gay was about as taboo as you got in his community.

The man in the white robe bowed, his palms pressed together. “I am Ashon, Master Jonathan,” he said in a calm voice.

Jonathan blinked. That word. That was another taboo thing, a secret interest he’d never even been able to talk to his lovers about. How did the Palace know this? After a second Jonathan stepped forward and held out his hand. “Hi, pleasure to meet you, Ashon. You already know my name, hey.” The white robed man took his hand and shook it politely as though it was a custom he found strange yet respected.

The white robed man then motioned him toward the round fireplace when he himself sat down, his legs folded under him neatly but his head held high. Jonathan glanced at his bags.

“Later,” the white robed man countered with a brilliant smile.

Jonathan approached and sat a few feet from him. “Don’t you have chair here?” The white robed man, he had a name, fool, Ashon just smiled and shook his head. “Oh, yeah, sort of ruin the atmosphere of what, dessert town.”

“Jungle,” Ashon stated simply. He began to ladle out what was currently cooking. It smelled interesting and resembled stew so Jonathan accepted it though doing so required he move closer. “Names, hands, food,” Ashon stated as he took a loaf of bread from where it was hidden by the fire and broke it into two pieces.

The bowls were earthenware as were the spoons. Jonathan tried to balance the bowl, spoon and bread as his host was doing but he glanced around. “Do you have something to drink?”

Ashon’s dark eyes widened a bit. “Food, drink,” he stated.

Jonathan nodded. Ok, another man’s room, another man’s rules. He’d learned that fast in jail, hell, at home. They ate in silence and when Jonathan held out his bowl for more, his host smiled broadly and ladled out more. When they were both finished Ashon took the bowls, spoons and the pot itself and placed it by the main door. He touched something on the wall then returned to the fire and took another container; it looked like a large gourd, from the ceiling. He undid the top and drank from it then held it out to Jonathan.

Jonathan sat back and blinked in surprised. “Glasses, you know, glasses,” he said making a motion with his hands as though he were holding something and lifting it to his lips. Ashon shook his head and continued to hold out the gourd. “No, no, thanks. I don’t drink out of the same container,” he stated.

“We will share much more in this place,” Ashon stated simply as he sat down in front of Jonathan.

It took a moment for the comment to sink in then Jonathan started to sputter as he tried to speak and think. Now he knew that the Palace was some gay resort but if they specialized in all sorts of kinks or therapies that had to be with a white man or at least the supervision of some talk therapist and this host was certainly neither of those.

As he tried to think of what to say and how to say it, Ashon leaned forward and kissed him. “What the hell?” Jonathan said as he scrambled back and stood up. “What do you think you are doing?”

His host just smiled. “You want, you need, I give,” his reply was as simple and as consulted as all his other statements.

“But, but,” Jonathan glanced around him. “You’re black. Black men don’t do this with each other.”

 

Chapter Three: Culture Shock

Ashon gave his new patient a few days to calm down. The young man was clearly uncomfortable in his room so on the third day Ashon made this announcement. “We go visit gardens. Come now,” he added taking the other man by his wrist and hauling to his feet.

“Hey,” Jonathan protested but the Key was too strong and soon they were at the door.

“Open,” Ashon ordered as he pointed to the keyhole on the door.

Jonathan looked blankly at the darker man then fumbled with his free hand for the key. “Can’t you open the door yourself?” he asked as he pushed it open.

“Yes,” Ashon said. It was part of his arrangement with the Palace – he came and went as he pleased as long as he told them before he left the island. The Spirits would tell him when to leave just as they had told him to come here and submit to this parade of wounded souls. “You boss here,” he added as he pulled the other man out of the suite after him.

“Yeah, I’m really in charge here,” Jonathan gasped as he followed along. He’d learned too well in prison that it didn’t pay to resist much though token resistance generally made you seem less of a target.

Soon they were in the central garden where the plants were always beautifully in bloom. Ashon led his patient around for a few minutes then simply released his wrist. Jonathan continued walking next to him for a good hour until they spotted another master-key couple near the small pond in the garden.

Jonathan started to turn to leave so Ashon grabbed his wrist again. “Hey, we can’t spy on them,” the patient insisted.

“Here, public, viewing good,” Ashon stated. He stood impassive as the other man struggled briefly to free himself then gave in and just sank to his knees. So that he was more comfortable Ashon sat in the grass. They could still see the couple well.

The Key was naked and standing against a tree as his Master worked his cock with his mouth and hands. Both men were pale though the Key was blushing deeper and deeper as he was worked into pleading for release. The Master smiled and stood up causing the Key to whimper as he was turned around. Now it was clear that the Key’s hands had been tied to a rope tossed over a tree limb.

Ashon put one hand on his patient’s shoulder as the man’s started to get up. Who did this man see as himself? The Master? No, that made no sense with what his page had told him. The Key? Maybe but Ashon thought it was something deeper than that.

The Master now stroked the Key’s back and ass, urging the captive man to spread his legs. Ashon now frowned as the Master merely fumbled with his pants and then roughly took the Key. In a few minutes the Master pulled away and left the Key dangling. “Waste,” Ashon replied then he stood up and pulled Jonathan after him.

“Waste of what?” the patient’s voice sounded stressed and when Ashon glanced at him the man pulled away as far as he could. “You’re not doing that to me. You can’t. We paid for this vacation, my church paid for this vacation, you can’t rape me,” Jonathan protested.

Ashon had heard this word before. He’d asked the Palace officials what it meant and was disgusted by their answers. It made no sense to him. Sex was a spiritual experience as well as a reproductive and physical one. It was best when between consenting partners. Of course as far as Ashon was concerned once someone came to his room they had consented – they had bought the key and his services had they not?

“Rape? No, no bad,” Ashon told him as he led his patient back toward the suite.

Jonathan seemed to relax and soon he was released and was walking of his own free will, sort of, to the suite. Using his key again he opened the door and followed his host inside. He gasped when the other man pushed him against the door and kissed him deeply.

Ashon used every part of his body to hold the other man in place as he kissed him and used his hands to caress his patient’s body. The other man was trying to push him away and after a moment Ashon stopped kissing but didn’t pull away. “Key, Master, now,” he said simply.

“You said rape was bad, I heard you,” Jonathan replied, his eyes wild with fear.

“Rape bad. Master, Key, now, good,” Ashon said with a serene smile before he leaned in and started to kiss his patient’s neck.

Jonathan froze for a moment. Then he sighed as Ashon continued to kiss him moving from one side of his neck to the other. Then the patient stiffened as his shirt was unbuttoned. “No,” he whispered.

Ashon stopped and stepped away not touching any part of his patient’s body. He wasn’t ready yet for their full connection and Ashon had learned in his years at the Palace that ‘no’ was an important word in his work. It was as important as ‘yes’ though the positive was much harder for his patients to learn to use.

The masters thought they needed to have that ‘no’ and that ‘yes’ respected but to do his job Ashon had to keep pushing. With enough pushing and enough stopping he was sure that even this sorely wounded one would recover. “Food,” Ashon stated with a smile then he turned toward the central fireplace.

 

Chapter Four: The Power to Say Yes

Jonathan was sitting near the fire after another delicious if strange meal that his Key had made. For the past few weeks they went on daily walks, spied on other guests, and then returned to the suite where his strange host would pin him, kiss him, caress him and make him feel amazing then afraid. The man always stopped as soon as Jonathan said ‘no’ and if he were honest he was taking more and more time before he said that word.

Like this afternoon. As Jonathan remembered how Ashon had pushed him against the door, kissed him deeply, kissed his neck, opened his shirt all the way and teased his nipples with his tongue he blushed. He’d said ‘no’ when Ashon’s hands had released his pants and fondled his erect cock. The Key had to know it turned him on; the evidence was solid yet he still stopped when Jonathan said ‘no’.

Now he wasn’t sure whether he had made a mistake when he said ‘no’ cause honestly he’d wanted it all to continue.

“More?” Ashon asked him with that calm look on his face.

Jonathan sputtered then realized that the man meant the food or at least he had until he’d made a fool of himself by reacting like some teenager. “No, no more food, Ashon,” he replied then glanced away.

He bit his lower lip as the other man moved closer and sat across from him. This again? Jonathan frowned as the other just looked at him, watched him, and yet when he glanced back he didn’t see the predatory gaze he’d seen in prison. No, the look was more one of just watching as you might a bird or a sunrise. Jonathan swallowed. It was almost a look of enjoyment.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he announced as he stood up. Ashon just nodded and remained where he was as Jonathan went to the area designed for showering. Like everything else in this suite it was supposed to look natural even though it was clearly clean and temperature controlled.

Jonathan sudsed up and rinsed off. Then he just stood there under the water and thought about the passed several weeks. This place wasn’t at all what he had imagined. He’d imagined some white gay guy bowing to him and catering to his whims or some white guys flirting with him. He’d come in with a chip on his shoulder he suddenly realized and he put a hand on the wall to steady himself.

Then he stiffed as he felt hands on his arms helping him stand up. “Long time, sick?” Ashon’s voice hit his ears as he was turned around. The darker man looked at him seriously, scanning his face. “Shower done, sleep now,” and his host had his wrist again.

“No,” Jonathan said and the hand disappeared as Ashon turned around. “I, um,” Jonathan licked his lips but the other man just tilted his head back a bit and regarded him closely.

Why was this so hard to do? Jonathan ran a mental check over his lovers. He’d had several decent ones, almost all of them handsome white men and one Latino too. They’d all cruised him, taken him home, bought him dinner or breakfast, went out a few times. Then it always stopped.

“Say,” Ashon’s voice broke through his thoughts. The Key was just standing there in a loincloth now wet and clinging to him.

Jonathan just stood there and waited. Why wasn’t he being pinned to the wall or pushed onto the floor? Again imagines of his previous lovers filtered through his mind. They’d all made the first move, the second move, all the moves, he realized.

“Say it,” Ashon almost ordered as he stood there his skin wet and shining, his loincloth strained but his posture relaxed.

“I want you to touch me,” Jonathan whispered then swallowed. His skin tingled when Ashon reached out and stroked his chest as he stepped forward. He could feel the Key’s heat as the other hand caressed his arm.

Then Ashon stopped and looked at him again. “More?” he asked.

Jonathan reached out but the other man merely stepped back. Oh, God, he wasn’t going to just accept his touch; he was going to make him say it? Jonathan reached out again but once more the Key moved away.

“More?” Ashon prompted.

Jonathan swallowed then nodded as he whispered, “Yes.”

Ashon stepped forward and continued to caress him, adding his mouth and tongue to the mix.

As Jonathan relaxed and felt himself reaching out again the Key would stop and ask for confirmation. Each time the pauses between ‘yes’ shortened as the touching grew more intense and direct.

By the time Jonathan was leaning against the wall with Ashon kneeling and sucking him off, the water covering them both, the master was crying out ‘yes’ with each stroke.

 

Chapter Five: A Master’s Role

Ashon lay still as his master explored his body with his tongue and hands. For the first week, the lighter man had been content to just let the Key explore his body and bring him pleasure. But today he had reached out and started mimicking the caresses. They were now on the floor near the door and both were naked.

Jonathan was looking closely at his uncircumcised penis. “That’s rare where I’m from,” he said and Ashon only smiled. This was a common reaction from his clients. Jonathan experimented with the foreskin for a few seconds then he looked up and asked, “Is this ok?”

Now was the time for the next lesson. Ashon smiled and took Jonathan’s hand in his own. He drew the other man’s hand across his chest, over his stomach, and over his cock. “Yours,” he said firmly.

The other man tried to pull away but as usual Ashon lightly held him still and repeated the term softly but insistently over and over. For too long his patient had been a victim, a toy, a possession, it was important for him to learn he could play the other role.

Ashon wasn’t surprised though when the other man broke free and left the suite. It would take a bit more time.

A day later Ashon just sat and looked at his patient after lunch. Normally they’d go for their walk in the garden but today only Jonathan stood up and went to the door. He looked back and asked, “I thought we’d go for a walk again. Don’t you want to?”

Ashon tilted his head to one side but otherwise didn’t move. “Tell me,” he said.

“What?” the other man stepped toward him. “I just did. I asked you a question. So answer it,” he countered.

“Tell me,” Ashon insisted.

“Answer my question,” Jonathan replied but Ashon only shook his head. With an annoyed look, the other man crossed to the other side of the suite.

For three afternoons they played this game. The patient would ask if Ashon wanted to take a walk and the Key refused to say. He prompted and prompted the other to just act like a master but honestly Ashon’s English wasn’t strong enough to make it clearer.

“Damn it!” Jonathan said suddenly as he sat his lunch bowl down. “I am tired of being in this suite. I want to take a walk and you are going with me.”

Ashon stood up immediately and bowed his head. “Yes, Master,” he agreed.

Jonathan looked up at him and then swallowed as he stood up on shaky legs. “I’m so sorry, Ashon, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

Ashon then sat down and shook his head.

“I thought we were going for a walk,” Jonathan countered, that frustration again in his voice.

“Tell me,” Ashon repeated as he waited.

His patient licked his lips, turned around then turned back with a flushed face. “Fine! Get up, we’re going for a walk.”

“Yes, Master,” Ashon said but he made no motion to take the other man’s hand.

With a glare, Jonathan grabbed his hand and led them out of the suite.

After their walk and an aggressive encounter by the suite’s door, Jonathan started to laugh. “You did that on purpose,” he accused Ashon.

“Yes,” the key replied. Then he just held the lighter man and smiled. This patient was well again.

 

Epilogue: Therapist

“Well, what do you think?” Ashon’s former patient and mistress asked him as they toured his new office in the hills of Los Angeles. The space was open with large windows and well kept gardens. He’d live here and work here and she’d arranged it all when he’d left the Palace.

“Good, good,” he replied. “It is peaceful,” he added using his improved English.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said. “The Palace has done an amazing job of getting you accredited and certified. I’ve arranged for a secretary to help you out and he’ll be by in a while. I just wanted to make sure you were settled in,” she added.

Ashon turned and noted her blush and her look. He was dressed in khaki pants and a short sleeved shirt but once in the building he’d slipped out of his sandals. He crossed the few feet between them. “Tell me, Susan,” he prompted her.

“Make love to me right now,” she told him with a smile.

Ashon smiled, kissed her passionately and then whispered, “Yes, Mistress,” before he gently lowered her to the ground.

**Author's Note:**

> While I have edited this piece over the past several no one else has betaed it so it may contain errors.


End file.
